"TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story."
"I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON."
-Edgar Allen Poe
For some odd reason I've decided to step into the past and draw out one of my favorite short stories from high school. I became really interested in prose and poetry because not only did they challenge me to understand what the author was saying, but they began to tell me who I was and what I was going through. I admit it, I was a very dark person before; I am aware of how dark I'm being right now, but I guess I have to be in the mood to describe myself at this time.
I feel that what Poe was thinking when he wrote this story is: we do things, think things and even believe certain things when we are alone. The narrator in the story was a servant to his master and had no motive for killing him, yet he did anyway. Why on earth would he kill him? Simply because he was alone. Day in and day out, I'm assuming, the servant was waiting on a blind, old man who could no longer take care of himself. He really had a lot of time to kill simply because all he did was do his servant duties and wait until his master called. During the time he had all to himself, I'm pretty sure he was extremely bored out of his mind and because of that boredom, he kills his master. He can't even come up with a good reason other than his eye which "resembled that of a vulture--a pale blue eye with a film over it". The guy even creepily starred at the old man every night at midnight for a couple of hours just to make sure it was the perfect time to kill him. So low and behold, he kills the guy, letting out a single cry, and buries him underneath the floor boards. So the guy is finally at ease; he is finally at rest until the officers pull in to have a chat. Surprisingly, the neighbors hear the scream and call the cops to go check it out. The murderer at this point is calm and not worrying because he hid the corpse well. He even invites the officers for a cup of Joe to relax. Everything is fine and dandy until the murderer hears the beating heart of the old man. It drives him insane I tell you. Almost instantly, he goes crazy and confesses to the officers, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!". With this confession he will obviously go to jail and perhaps, if the time period is right, be hung.
Now why on earth am I trying to understand what was going through Poe's mind when he wrote this? I have no clue at the moment. In actuality, I felt so dark waking up at 5:30 this morning, that wanted to read Dickinson (FYI she is extremely creepy). However, in writing this, I was able to figure out that this can relate to the Christian life, or at least mine anyway. Whenever alone, I tend to dive into a struggle mode with sin. I have no desire in what it brings me, I just want to do it, I even go to the extent of making up an excuse as to why I should sin. I then hide that sin under the floors or whatever whenever people come into my life to see if I'm okay and to see if everything is alright. Of course, my sinful nature will lie and say everything is alright, but then as time goes by and my conviction arises, I then confess everything. It always takes a group of friends to drive out my confession and ask for prayer. Funny, the one thing I hated the most growing up is the thing that is helping me the most. I simply cannot express my gratitude for my Father, especially since He has given me a community that cares deeply for me. I can already feel my hatred for friendships dying more and more each week. It is something to work on; it will bring forth pain, but that is simply where healing begins.
Isn't it amazing how God can turn the utmost darkest intent into something that would give Him honor and glory? I love blogging/journaling.
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